The Misadventures of Neville Longbottom
by roses in bloom
Summary: Setting: Dreary who knows where. Characters: Neville Longbottom with an abundance of Creepy Men in Dark Robes. Plot: Survival of the fittest, erm...sort of.
1. Chapter 1

The Misadventures of Neville Longbottom- Death Eater?

* * *

It was a lovely spring that year. Flowers in myriads of colors sprang up from the ground, all paying tribute to the blinding sun above. While unfurling leaves stretched toward the sky, foreign footsteps broke the revered silence and tramped over the sacred ceremony; crushed petals sprinkled down to the ground like great drops of blood. All in all, Neville decided, that was a rather morbid sign…

Naturally, mid-March of his Seventh Year found Neville moping about the greenhouses muttering utter nonsense regarding his upcoming N.E.W.T.'s ("Doom, _**doom**-_") under his breath to a captive audience of potted plants.

He sighed and dug his fingers into the bag of potting soil- how pathetic was it that he hid from his own friends to _garden_ of all things? For Merlin's sake, he could have stayed in bed and slept in! …Well maybe not slept per say considering how loud Seamus and Dean's erm- _wake-up techniques_ were. But he could have also gone to the library with Harry, Ron, and Hermione- though Hermione and Ron were almost louder than his dorm mates when it came to their 'arguments'. Harry wasn't much company either, only interrupting his teen-hero-must-save-world angst to snog with Ginny.

Neville paused and wiped his nose, leaving a streak of dirt from his soil covered hand- One, two, three, four, five…Yes, those were all of his friends. …Oh wait, he had forgotten Justin Finch-Fletchley! …Who had been sent home after a nervous breakdown?

Damn.

Finishing his re-potting, he groaned in frustration and buried his face in his hands. Good God, was there _really_ nothing else to do? An idea bursting to the forefront of his mind, Neville situated himself next to the wall and crashed his head into the wood paneling.

**Bang. Bang. Bang.**

The repetition of it was almost comforting, he mused with a dreamy smile.

**Bang. Bang. Ban- **_Scream?_

Eyes popping open with a start he glanced toward the open door and noted with a certain amount of panic that the castle was on fire.

Goddammit, how did the castle get to be on fire?

…

Oh look, the Dark Mark. Ah, that explained some things.

Banging his head once more for good measure, Neville grabbed his wand and raced toward the castle to help out.

…Or he would have if a hulking bag of fertilizer hadn't chosen that moment to fall. As it was, he managed to fumble for his wand and take a hesitant step forward before it collided with his skull.

This was not a very effective was to play the hero, Neville noted wearily before blacking out. How did Harry manage it, he wondered?


	2. Chapter 2

"-torched the place, eh? Knew-"

"-got away, I reckon. Portkeys or-"

"-know! I got it under-"

Neville squirmed, restlessly shifting in his sleep. Bugger- why did Seamus have to be so loud in the mornings? He was exhausted from his Charms essay the night before and-

"Well would you look at what we've got here."…One hazel eye squinted open, noting an overturned bag of fertilizer, and mud-stained robes brushing the edge of equally dirty boots.

Right. So he wasn't in his dorm. And that probably wasn't Seamus judging by the deep, rasping voice. Wonderful.

He froze, his eye trained on the fertilizer- the damn thing had _dropped _on him! But, there was something else…

Oh yeah- the school was on fire.

_Bloody hell_, the school was on fire!

Chancing a small glance up at the face of his rescuer he clamped his jaw on the gasp that threatened to escape. Right, so Death Eaters weren't likely to help him out. Scratch that rescuer bit.

Neville sighed inwardly- maybe he could pretend he was dead already?

Resisting the urge to curl up into a blubbering mess, he went as still as possible, breathing shallowly enough so as not to be noticeable. A moment passed and he uttered a squeak against his will as a boot's heel prodded him sharply in the mid-section.

"Nice try."

Alright then- Plan B, Neville decided. Act as utterly pathetic as possible. He doubted Harry would approve, but- desperate times…

He brought his knees to his chest, curling into the smallest position available to him, and hiding his face in his arms, pinched the skin around his eyes harshly, drawing out tears and a pained whimper.

"Oh bullocks-" Neville could hear the other man start to pace and sniffled a few times for good measure.

The man knelt shakily besides him. "Come on, then. No more tears- um…" He dug through his robes frantically, finally alighting upon a handkerchief and offering it graciously.

"Here you go." Neville nearly went cross-eyed as he tried to focus on the white cloth. Pairing that with the dull pounding in his head, he was sure to pass out again…

…

…

…

A slap across his surprisingly tear-stained cheeks (He was a better actor than he'd originally thought! Finally, something he _could_ do right!) brought him back.

"Eh- kid? You're in some rough shape there, aren't you?"

Blinking away tears that were not played out, Neville winced as the man prodded at the bump left by the bag of fertilizer. "D-don't."

Despite the Death Eater mask, Neville could see wisps of beard and wondered who had caught him- a friend of Bellatrix perhaps? _Ah, probably not_, he judged, closing his eyes as the handkerchief was dragged softly across his cheeks to wipe at his tears.

"You ok, little one?"

Neville froze- what did he say? In all honesty, when he had planned out this strategy, he had sort of figured he'd be dead by the first whimper. If he said yes, the D.E. might shrug and kill him; if he said no, the D.E. might say 'oh well', shrug, and _then_ kill him. Choices, choices…

"Um- I-I don't know…?"

He could have slapped himself- 'I don't know?' What the hell of an answer was that? Great, now he'd die for not knowing what to say- the story of his life.

By some stroke of luck, the man paused and scratched his beard, thinking. "You mean you don't remember anything?"

_Um…_Oh, well this could work. Neville brought up every depressing thing that had happened to him in the front of his mind, and mustered up a few racking sobs. "N-no…What's w-wrong with- me?"

He could just see the cogs in the man's head turning:

Hogwarts student _equals _target, target _equals_ kill; kid _equals_ Hogwarts student, kid _equals_ kill…

He decided to go in for the prize: "Wh-where am I?"

And the cogs turned out a decision:

Kid _equals_ Hogwarts student…false; kid _equals_ unknown property

The man sighed and lifted up his mask, revealing a rather lined and kindly face that reminded him of Hagrid and made him feel guilty for lying, until he remembered that the man basically killed muggles for a living.

"My name's Edmund McKinnon, little one. Do you remember your name, at least?"

_McKinnon, McKinnon…Ah, never heard of him. Damn._

"N-no…I do-n't-" Neville choked back a groan of actual distress- what the hell had he gotten himself into?

"That's fine, little one. It'll be alright, eh?" The man bumped his chin up slightly and grinned, "Uncle Ed'll fix this!"

_Oh dear Lord._

"Come on then, child."

_Bugger._


	3. Chapter 3

Once the nicities of "W-Why is that castle on fire?" and "Erm- the lord who lived there was a very…bad man and so the town _rebelled_- that is, set fire to…well, you get the gist of it" were exchanged (though Neville inwardly scoffed at the Death Eater's response), one Edmund McKinnon grabbed a hold of him before apparating with a sharp _Pop!_

Neville wondered absently how the D.E.'s had managed past the Apparation wards around Hogwarts- that is, until the unpleasant tug at his innards pulled him back to the present. After a split-second of weightlessness, the two stumbled to a stop at the gates to a rather large estate.

"I-It's so-" _cheerful?_ he finished mentally, taking in the off-white trim, red brick, and vast hedges. But perhaps most unexpected was the bustling figure of Lucius Malfoy.

"Where have you- _Oh_, what's all this then?"

Bugger.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was not stupid. He was blonde- oh yes, he was blonde- but he was not to be tricked easily.

…That was probably why Neville was so shocked to still be alive.

Seeing that grey eyes were still coldly calculating him as his self-proclaimed 'caretaker' was wrapping up the story of their meeting, Neville let out a whimper (not as fake as he'd have liked it to be) and fisted McKinnon's robes, trying to hide behind them.

"Hey now! Lucius, watch it –you're scaring the life out of him!"

Lucius blinked, looking away. "How can you be so sure this boy has lost his memories?" At the other's (_for-once_) stern gaze, he hastily added, "Besides the fact that he told you so. The Dark Lord will no doubt want more proof."

McKinnon looked pained for a moment, but then tugged Neville from behind him, hurrying him toward the largest brick building. Nodding in approval, Lucius followed at a steps distance. "I'll call for Draco to identify him," he remarked snidely, gesturing toward the dirt-stained robes, and the Hogwarts seal patch that was slowly coming undone, "in case he truly has lost all memory."

Neville felt he had never been in such a deep pile of shit.

They came to a sudden stop in front of a set of paneled oak doors, Lucius excusing himself to use the floo and McKinnon herding Neville into the library behind them. First setting Neville down in one of the deep-seated chairs, he grasped a small glass vial from the cabinet opposite, and shook it, making sure there was enough for the occasion. Apparently deciding in the affirmative, he set it on the nearest table, moving beside it to seat himself on the edge of Neville's winged chair and running a consoling hand through unruly brown hair.

"There, there, pet. We just want you to try and answer us some questions, see? No need to be scared now…"

Neville bit his lip and nodded, unconsciously leaning into the caresses- this was too surreal! Oh well, he'd be dead in a moment, and then nothing would matter anymore. What a lovely thought.

A sharp rap on the door, and Neville glanced up to see Draco Malfoy gaping at him.

"Longbottom?!"

McKinnon stoop hurriedly as Neville schooled his face to show only fear and confusion (though he imagined that even his best attempt would end up simply pure, unadulterated panic; he hoped they weren't too observant). "Is that his name? Longbottom?"

Draco nodded, making room for his father to enter through the doors. "Yes, Neville Longbottom. He goes to my sc- to Hogwarts. A Gryffindor and Potter's crony besides."

Lucius gave a tight-lipped smile and picked up the glass vial, inspecting it, and upon finding it acceptable, turned toward Neville while unstopping the top.

"I assume this is it, then? Shall we?"

McKinnon nodded, sitting back down and wrapping an arm around the headrest. "Just a drop left, but it'll do."

"Quite so. Tip his head, would you?"

Shedding all-too-real tears, Neville struggled against the hold, caught between unintelligible pleading and sobbing, and trying in vain to ignore the smirking face of Draco Malfoy swimming in his line of sight and the awful burn of embarrassment on his face.

Somehow a hand pried apart his impossibly clenched jaw, and cool liquid dribbled down from the vial onto his tongue. It burned cold on his tongue, and he stopped thrashing- there was no point fighting it, really. He could only hope they would grant him a quick and painless death.

…Right, Death Eaters. Forget that last bit then.

The taste was oddly bland- the liquid hit his tongue and disappeared an instant later, sinking into it and alighting his taste buds with all the shock of ice, but no specific taste.

"Do you remember anything from before you were found by McKinnon?"

The question was accompanied by an arm sliding down to rest on his shoulders in a fatherly embrace- though Neville knew it could just as easily crush him if he answered anything but no.

If that were the case, then: _No no no no nonononononononononononononononononono-_

"N-no." _Oh, it worked…Yes!_ This wasn't at all what he'd expected- was there something wrong with the potion?

"Do you know your name?"

"U-um-" Neville raised a shaky finger to paint at Draco. "He said it was Neville, I think. Neville L-Longbottom."

He ventured a glance at the empty vial as it was handed to a House Elf for disposal. Nothing _seemed _wrong with it…Wait- what was that? He tilted his head as the others discussed among themselves, and squinted his eyes at the dog-eared label. 'Exp. 3-11-'

'Exp. 3-11-'? What the hell was an 'Exp.'? He choked down a gasp of surprise- it was the expiration date from sometime last week!

Ridiculously, he felt like kissing the murdering scum for not noticing.

"Well, there you have it, Lucius. He's not lying!"

Lucius released a derisive snort. "So he isn't. Of course, we'll have to go the Dark Lord about this, you know."

"Yes, yes- such a nag, you are."

Neville wished he wouldn't squeeze his shoulder **quite **so tight.


	4. Chapter 4

"My lord, at the attack on Hogwarts I came across a student who had lost all memory of his life before I found him. I would like to adopt and raise him as my own."

"Are there any who can identify him?"

"Yes, my lord. Draco Malfoy recognized him as Neville Longbottom."

"Ah, the dimwitted one. Very well, I am willing to go along with this whim of yours, McKinnon. Lucius has already supported your claims of proof."

"My lord?"

"Just be sure to raise him as my follower. There will be use for him in uncovering the whereabouts of that wretched Potter."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord."

* * *

Neville awoke to the smell of soap. It was nice soap, too- without any of the annoying flowery frills that seemed to be present in most on the market. It was nice soap, but the fact that it was suffocating him dampened his pleasure at the _springtime fresh!_ scent.

"Ggh," Neville choked out from beneath an inch of warm water and soap lather. He clawed at his face, attempting to reach clean air.

Draco Malfoy sneered at him, tossing a washcloth at his face. "Well, now that you're awake, you might as well do some of the work."

Neville's humiliation at being nearly drowned by soap lather was, understandably, overshadowed by his humiliation that Draco Malfoy had seen him naked. Or rather, was continuing to see him naked as well as _washing_ him. Oh dear.

The blond seemed to sense his discomfort and snickered at it. "Comfortable, are we, Longbottom?"

Neville squeaked and made a grab for the washcloth, using it to cover up his more…_intimate_ bits. As his face heated, Draco smirked and moved to lean against the wall, content apparently to watch Neville bathe.

_Probably to make sure I do it properly…_ Neville thought morosely as he used his free hand to lather up his skin.

After a moment of peace, Draco cleared his throat to speak. "Well, I haven't got all day. Hurry it up, will you?"

Neville seethed inwardly, though he did scrub at his skin at more furious pace than before. What could possibly go wrong now?

* * *

Apparently everything could go wrong. He had been a fool to ask.

"Well, don't you like them?" McKinnon asked with the beginnings of a frown forming.

Neville choked as he gazed with fear at the black robes and skull-like mask. Death-Eaters robes. "I-it's just… w-why a skull?"

"Well, you see-" the man started to say, before a puzzled expression settled on his face. "I don't rightly know actually. Something to do with death and destruction, I gather. Nevermind that! Just pretend it's that Halloween holiday the muggles enjoy so much!"

"W-What?" Neville gaped at the man without understanding. The robes and mask were pressed into his arms, which shook beneath the weight. His mind whirred with memories, but his facial expression remained slack, if not a little afraid.

"You know," McKinnon pondered aloud, "I wonder if it's really a good idea to take you with me…" His brow furrowed in thought momentarily, but smoothed quickly enough. "Oh well!" he declared cheerfully. "You might as well jump on in if the water's fine!"

Blanching, Neville tittered nervously as the robes were draped around his form. The dark cloth seemed to swallow him and he shivered as the mask was settled on his face and fastened to his hood.

"There! Now you look like a right Death Eater!" McKinnon chuckled and slapped him on the back. "Let's head out, Neville, my boy! We've got some muggles to torment!"

Neville trembled from the force of the slap and did his best not to fall over. _Oh goodie…_

* * *

After apparating them both to an undisclosed location ("I could tell you tell you- but then I'd have to kill you!" McKinnon boomed through chuckles of hilarity. Neville stared at the man, wide-eyed.), McKinnon shuffled over to an overturned tree.

"This looks like as good a place as any," he remarked before whipping out his wand and setting it on fire. The flames crackled merrily, spreading quickly over the tree and alighting all the nearby brush.

"Um…" Neville began to protest, watching the fire burn dangerously all the land about ten feet from him. "W-why are you-?"

"Got to smoke them out- nasty little buggers, these muggles… Now listen, my boy," McKinnon said, turning to Neville with a serious expression. "They are sneaky, devious things- muggles. Always be on guard- CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He erupted into helpless giggles. Neville, meanwhile, watched as the flames inched toward them.

"But worse than muggles," McKinnon continued once he caught his breath, "are those gosh-darned Order members. They are pure evil- always poking around for the next lost cause to help limp along…"

"Y-yeah?" Neville squeaked out as a broken branch burst into flame just behind his companion.

"So," McKinnon said, paying no heed to the fire, "just in case someone is looking for you, we need to change your name. You are officially—my, my, is it getting rather toasty out here?—Frederick McKinnon, my long-lost nephew from Wales."

"B-but, I-"

"Oh dear, I don't see any muggles about today. I think we'd better head back for the time being. Let's go!" He grabbed Neville and apparated away with a _Pop!_ just as the flames engulfed the entire clearing.

Some distance away, a teen boy—caked with mud and straining to see through the smoke—gaped at the disappearance of the guilty pair. He yelped as the fire shifted directions with the wind and ran back toward the town.

The next day's newspaper would read: **ELLINGHAM WOODS DESTROYED IN FIRE—ARSON SUSPECTED. **A smaller headline would report: **Local Boy Admitted to Mental Institution—Claimed to Have Seen Robed Skeletons Set Fire to Woods.**


End file.
